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勇者无畏(英汉对照)pdf/doc/txt格式电子书下载

书名:勇者无畏(英汉对照)pdf/doc/txt格式电子书下载

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作者:徐莉娜,塞尔编

出版社:青岛出版社

出版时间:2007-02-01

书籍编号:30068363

ISBN:9787543640559

正文语种:中英对照

字数:

版次:1

所属分类:外语学习-英语读物

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勇者无畏(英汉对照)pdf/doc/txt格式电子书下载

勇者无畏


(美)科琳·赛尔


青岛出版社


这是一本使人心灵受到震撼,发人深省并催人奋进的短篇故事集。这里记录了一段段真实而感人的故事,刻画了一个个平凡而伟大的主人公。他们凭借着坚韧不拔的勇气和毅力面对挫折,迎接挑战,不但改变着自己的命运,而且感染着每一个分享他们故事的人。


你会记住那个从肆虐洪水中勇敢挽回无数生命的高中男孩、那个从熊熊烈火中救出两个婴儿的伟大母亲、那个将宝贵生命献给贫民窟孩子的中年妇女、还有那个冲破生理极限只为实现梦想的残疾人……他们是一些平凡得不能再平凡的人,而在他们身上却蕴含着潜在的无可比拟的勇气。


罗伯特·弗洛斯特曾说过:“勇气是人类最伟大的品德。”朋友们,让我们鼓起勇气面对生活的磨难,放飞梦想,勇敢追求,描绘出属于自己的壮美画卷吧。


中国海洋大学张德玉

PREFACE


Colleen Sell


The Cup of Comfort anthology series was created at the dawn of the new millennium to provide a forum by which ordinary people could share true stories about the experiences and people that have inspired them. My hope was that these uplifting personal stories would create a bridge between people of different circumstances and cultures by reminding them of the universal truths that make us all human and that give us hope and happiness. It is certainly not a new concept.


Since human beings first acquired the ability to communicate, we have used stories to share humanity\'s most empowering truths and most powerful lessons. For hundreds of thousands of years, the uniquely human gift of story has guided and comforted us, connecting us to our inner spirits and to one another.


And now the stories in this book are reaching across continents and oceans to connect people in North America with people in China. The Cup of Comfort authors and I are humbled and honored by this privilege, and we sincerely hope that these stories bring you comfort and joy.

序言


科琳·塞尔


《一杯安慰》系列丛书问世于新千年伊始。该丛书为人们提供了一个交流平台,普通人可以在这里讲述他们的真实故事,讲述感动过他们的经历和人。他们的个人经历,使人振奋,揭示了赋予我们人性、带给我们希望和快乐的普遍道理。我希望该故事丛书能为不同背景、不同文化的人们架起一座交流和沟通的桥梁。诚然,以书为桥不是一个新的概念。


自从人类获得交流沟通的能力以来,我们就用故事来传播最发人深省的人生道理,传授最重要的生活经验。千万年来,故事这一非同寻常的人类礼物指引着我们人生的道路,带给我们心灵的慰籍,让我们了解自己的内心世界,是连接我们和他人之间的纽带。


本书中的故事跨越了不同的大陆,飘洋过海,把北美和中国不同地域的人们连接在一起。我和《一杯安慰》的各位作者享此殊荣,不胜荣幸。我们衷心地希望书中故事给你们带去安慰和快乐。


徐莉娜译

Mercy from the Flames
Christmas morning, I heard technicians dismantling the machines that had kept Sofia, my neighbor in the burn unit for twelve days, alive. I closed my eyes, wishing Sofia well on her journey. I added a prayer for me, to whatever spirits were listening, to heal my own burned face and without the skin grafts a physician had already indicated might be necessary.
Two weeks before Christmas, I’d been at home, preparing an article outline, when my electricity went out during a snowstorm. I lit several candles and sat at my kitchen table, trying to finish the outline.
I woke up in the emergency room of the local hospital.
“You\'ve had a seizure,” a doctor told me, “and burned yourself…badly.”
I was sent that night by ambulance to the nearest burn unit, in a hospital about fifty miles away. I have epilepsy, and having had epileptic seizures previously, I was no stranger to emergency rooms. But I’d never seriously hurt myself before.
When I have a grand mal seizure, I lose consciousness. My limbs shake, but I\'m unable to feel my body’s spasms. After I have a seizure, I get an un-me feeling: I don\'t feel like myself. What day is it? Where am I? How did I get here? Then the memories come floating back, like things tossed upon the tide that return to shore with the next wave: It’s Tuesday; there\'s a storm and the lights go out; I light candles; I’m writing an outline for an article on local farmland protection; I stop for a moment to look at the candlelight flickering on the tablecloth.
Now, I felt like I was in a bad dream I couldn\'t wake from. My head and neck were in bandages. A nurse told me I’d suffered second- and third-degree burns on the left side of my head and on my right hand. Nearly two-thirds of the left side of my face and scalp had been burned, from the tip of my nose to my ear. All my hair on that side of my head was burned off. My burned left eyelid was swollen shut. My skin smelled like a rotting hamburger. When I chewed or yawned, my left temple felt like it would come apart.
Why me? I have photosensitive epilepsy, and my eyes are very sensitive to sudden changes in light patterns, like blinking lights. I realized that the flickering of the candles must\'ve triggered the seizure. Still, I asked, Why me?
The next day, Michael, my boyfriend, drove nearly sixty miles to the burn unit. I was so glad to see him, yet ashamed.
“I must look horrible,” I said.
“I almost lost you,” he said, squeezing my hand. “You mean more to me than ever.”
I felt very grateful for his words.
“I still don’t know how I got here.”
Michael sat next to me on the bed. “Your upstairs neighbor, Ray, told me that he smelled hair burning. He said he recognized the smell from his days in the Army. So he ran downstairs, broke through the back door, found you, and called 911.”
How kind of him, I thought. We had only a nodding acquaintance. Yet, I was angry, too—at myself.
Regardless, the nurses, the doctors, and Michael told me I was lucky. Lucky that Ray had been home. Lucky that my right thumb had somehow escaped injury and, though my four fingers were bandaged like a snowball, I had enough dexterity to write, brush my teeth, and eat wi

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